


Wondermaze

by afterdalton



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1978497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdalton/pseuds/afterdalton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Sebastian partake in the time-honored tradition of losing their shit at IKEA</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wondermaze

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Glee Collage Fest prompt: IKEA
> 
> Also posted on [tumblr](http://charlie-of-oz-writes.tumblr.com/post/92142718373/wondermaze)

For all the times they’ve gotten into it in the past with cannons blasting and banners waving, neither expected their first fight as a couple to be so horrifically pedestrian.

But here they are in the middle of IKEA, drawing looks and trying to care, becoming the cliché.

It started off innocently enough: Sebastian checking the time on his phone and Kurt asking if he had somewhere to be. And then it spiraled downward so fast Sebastian thought he might wake up in Oz if he blinked hard enough.

Kurt’s playing dirty, turning this around on him like it was Sebastian’s idea to drop by the Bermuda triangle for relationships with promises of a quick trip followed by sex. Nothing about this has been fast except the rapid fire sarcasm pooling on their tongues and launching like hellfire spewing from the mouths of volcanoes. So from the looks of things, sex is off the table now too. Having that particular thought during the course of a _lover’s spat in IKEA_ is a shameful mistake that’s now tainted table sex for the rest of eternity.

Is it really a surprise that Sebastian would have better things to do than pick out dinnerware and bedding sets? Really?

Does it come as a surprise to _anyone_ that shopping doesn’t rank on his list of hobbies? Least of all Kurt, who stopped inviting him places long ago, even before their bedroom days, if it was going to waste countless hours because _he fucking knows_ Sebastian is a petulant child about it.

Standing around in IKEA, getting bitched at to help pick a pattern for shit that’s not even going to his apartment “so we can leave like I know you want to” is far from Sebastian’s idea of a good time.

“Kurt!” he cries in a strangled growl. “I don’t care. Get the ugly fucking throw pillows. Get the entire ugly fucking set. I do not care. I. Do. Not. Care. How many ways can I say this? What the fuck are we even fighting about?!” It’s a combination of good genes and good product that keeps his hair from coming up as he pulls helplessly at his defenseless strands.

Kurt is quiet. Too quiet. But Sebastian’s mind is howling and he’s too deep in this to save himself.

“Babe,” he starts again, with anger vibrating so palpably it’s rattling his bones. “I’ll buy you whatever you want. You know what – here’s an idea: I’ll throw the complete Smythe fortune at an enormous plot of land where I’ll build you a replica of this godforsaken hell pit. And you can spend all day getting lost in your own private wondermaze and mosey on over from one shitty, overpriced, so-called tasteful, decorative lamp to another then back again, all day and all night. And no one will stop you.

“That’ll solve the problem, right? Since you can’t fucking decide on anything? Please, god, let me whisk you off to an IKEA palace in the quiet countryside, so I can get the hell out of here.”

“Are you done?”

Their audience has mostly dissipated now that Sebastian has broken the unspoken rule of fighting in hushed voices, though a few wandering eyes dart in their direction. Sebastian is choking on his mouthful, instantaneous guilt and regret in place of the angry words. It’s only going to be worse once he grows a pair big enough to look Kurt in the eye, but he’s just tired and fucked in a bad way, and he wants to skip past to the making up.

“Let’s go,” he hears just before Kurt knocks into him on the way past. There’s nothing at all playful to the action and Kurt doesn’t wait for him to follow, doesn’t seem to care at all if he even does. The pillows Kurt had been holding up in either hand are tossed on a nearby table looking as pitiful as Sebastian.

“I’m sorry,” he whines unattractively, catching up to Kurt, who’s all but fleeing because that would call attention.

Kurt snorts. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s the last Sebastian hears from Kurt until Kurt’s telling him to buckle his seatbelt, and then that’s the last he gets until they’ve pulled up to Kurt’s apartment – _guess I’m walking home –_ and he’s asking if Sebastian wants to come upstairs or not.

His own murder could be waiting to happen upstairs, of course he doesn’t want to go. But he does, trailing Kurt yet again with his tail between his legs.

Sebastian thinks he knows Kurt well enough by now to expect certain patterns in his behavior. He knows how he fucked up earlier; he knows that Kurt is positively fuming because quiet Kurt is scary Kurt. Even if they’ve only been dating two months, they’ve been fucking for years, and they’ve been friends longer than that. Over the course of their relationship, Sebastian’s grown fairly adept at picking up on cues from Kurt.

So maybe it’s the change of status between them, maybe Kurt’s like this with all his boyfriends and Sebastian is only now getting the opportunity to experience it, but he sure as shit did not expect Kurt to slam him up against the wall and bombard him with roaming hands and unrelenting lips.

It’s all Sebastian can do to keep up with Kurt when he gets all _wildcat_ when he himself is in the mood, but the course of events has shifted so violently it feels more like whiplash than foreplay.

“Kurt,” he pleads. “Stop.”

And for a second, it’s really a disgrace that this can’t go on because Kurt looks positively wrecked.

But he does know Kurt, he realizes. And he’s quickly reconciling the man he knows with the one who just accosted him.

Kurt is wrecked. And it’s Sebastian’s fault.

“We should talk.”

Kurt swallows down a ragged breath and bites his lip. “We’re better at not talking.”

Sebastian takes Kurt’s face between his hands and plants a light kiss on his nose as he’s fond of doing. He’s always been a physical person, always active, always needing to touch, but Kurt has added intimacy to the equation and it’s almost embarrassing how willing he is to run twelve blocks, in blazing summer heat, to Kurt’s favorite bakery and buy him every cheesecake in the place if it means Kurt would be willing just to hear his apology.

Thanking whatever deity is on his side right now, he leads Kurt, by the hand he’s letting Sebastian hold, over to the worn couch littered with his own clothes – which Kurt claims to positively hate, though Sebastian knows he sometimes steals a hoodie to wear when Sebastian’s not around. He doesn’t know how to start the conversation. There’s never been a press for immediate apologies, never been cause for either to call out his own bullshit once they’ve called out each other’s. But there’s never been anything at stake.

“I was harsh.”

“You were an asshole,” Kurt corrects.

“We _are_ better at the not talking.”

Kurt is rigid and tense in a way he hasn’t been around Sebastian since he tried to steal Kurt’s high school boyfriend. He’s usually so strong and assertive that Sebastian finally understands, in practice, the theory that loving someone means making yourself vulnerable to them. Kurt trusted Sebastian not to mishandle the trust assigned him, and Sebastian did just that.

“I really am sorry, Kurt. We’re phenomenal at the not talking,” he can’t keep a smirk off his face, “but I want us to become un-fucking-paralleled at… this,” he gestures to the space between them.

Kurt’s at least looking back at him now, but he’s silently contemplative, and Sebastian’s afraid of what Kurt will find that deep into his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have forced you to come.”

“I –”

“But god Sebastian, you know I hate your _“Smythe Fortune”_ bullshit most of all.

“I –”

“How dare you belittle me like that?!”

“Kurt –”

“I’ve come to terms with you being a complete tool. It’s oddly attractive at this point. But never treat me that way again or we won’t even attempt the talking.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why is it that you get to come up smelling like roses, Kurt? I didn’t pick that fight. I hadn’t said a fucking word about wanting to leave.”

“Sebastian, I had to physically drag you around after five minutes.”

“You said it was a quick trip; I figured you knew what you were looking for. Not that you need more stuff.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” His voice rises with every word. A bad sign because high-pitched Kurt is scary Kurt, too. But the hurt in his eyes is gone and replaced with judgmental exasperation, a look very familiar to Sebastian. “I wasn’t there for me, you fucknut. Do you think I like shopping with you?! You’re an awful companion. I mean, I love you, but oh my god, you are the worst. We – you and I, that is, and had you listened when I told you in the first place, you would know this – were asked by your mother to shop for gifts for Shelley’s new apartment.”

“You asked when you were three seconds from sucking my dick, Kurt. I guess my subconscious just blocks out thoughts of my mother and my little sister while that’s happening.”

Kurt has his head thrown back and the heels of his hands digging at his eyes, groaning in frustration, yet still it feels like the worst of the storm has passed.

“I honestly don’t know why I keep you around, sometimes.”

“Apparently because you love me.”

“Caught that, did you?”

“Yup.”

“And?”

“I love you, too, Kurt.”

It’s quiet again, almost companionable in the subsiding tension. Kurt lets Sebastian’s head lay on his shoulder, even runs a hand through his hair and pulls him in closer.

“We can never go back to IKEA.”

“Agreed.”

“We can’t even shop the online store.”

“Speak for yourself.”

For all that today was horrible, and as much as Sebastian wishes he could cast the bound-and-anchored memory into the deepest depths of the ocean, they’re past it. It was hardly the worst fight they’ve ever had, doesn’t even break the top ten – hell, it doesn’t even rank in terms of most interesting, but it feels important anyway. Like if their relationship can survive the first fight, maybe it can outlast them all.

Well, fuck, if that isn’t the most anticlimactic, balls-chopping sendoff to his bachelor days.

But here he is, wrapped in Kurt’s arms, and even if they still suck at everything but the not talking, he can’t imagine what it is to miss the supposed freedom of being single.

**Author's Note:**

> _*whispers:[I accept prompts](http://charlie-of-oz-writes.tumblr.com/ask), darlings*_


End file.
